Through the Grapevine
by Greenflares
Summary: When a rumour spreads around Beacon Hills that Stiles and Derek are dating, Stiles is quick to set the record straight – but no one seems to believe him, and yeah, okay, that's kind of worrying.


None of it's mine, etc.

Just as a side-note, this takes place at some undefined point on the timeline. I've kind of tampered things so that Derek has his loft, everyone in the pack is still alive and kicking, and for the sake of things not being so creepy, Stiles is seventeen (not that I bothered to mention it anywhere in here oops).

I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**_Through the Grapevine_**

* * *

It was a Monday morning when Stiles took his seat in History class and was promptly greeted by Danny leaning over and saying, "Dude, congratulations!"

Stiles scratched his nose with the end of his pen and squinted. "Congratulations on what?" he asked, scanning his memory. He'd done a lot of things in his lifetime worth celebrating – his entire being was worthy of celebration, really – but nothing had happened recently.

Danny gave him a look, a look that made it perfectly clear that Stiles was missing something obvious. Stiles squinted further still, racking his brain.

"Congratulations on _scoring_," Danny said quietly and with deliberation, drawing the word out purposefully. He watched Stiles with worry, as though he now believed he was slightly brain-damaged.

"Oh," Stiles said, a little taken aback. He blinked. "Thanks." It had been a few days since he'd managed a goal at lacrosse practice, but he supposed it must've made an impact on Danny who'd been in the goals when it had happened.

Danny looked around them as though he was checking to see if the coast was clear before he edged his chair closer and said, voice low and secretive, "If you ever want to talk about anything, or you need advice on something, you know where to find me." He offered Stiles a welcoming smile.

"Sure," Stiles said eagerly. Danny was one of the better players on the team, and Stiles supposed that a goalie would have some valuable advice on scoring goals. "That'd be great, dude. Yeah."

Danny smiled again, warmer than usual, and clapped him once on the shoulder before scooting his chair back the few inches to his own desk.

Stiles smiled to himself, already having a good day.

* * *

"You know, Lydia, we have a Chemistry quiz coming up next week," Stiles said with forced nonchalance, following Lydia on her way to her locker. "We could probably do with some study. Y'know – gotta keep all the information fresh. Gotta read over things – highlight stuff."

Lydia snorted with amusement but made no comment.

"Not gonna – not gonna input anything here? No? Okay. Well, I was thinking we should form a little study group. You and me, some text books, some smooth Jazz, and some hardcore studying." He struggled to keep up with her fast pace in the crowded hall, and he was a little breathless as he asked, "So, what do you reckon? Your place or mine?"

Lydia flipped her hair and offered Stiles a brief glance. "Okay, firstly," she said, all sweet and sour, "we both know that it wouldn't be studying, it would be _tutoring_. I run circles around Mr Harris, and I definitely run circles around you."

"Well," Stiles tried, "well, yeah, okay, that's accurate – but still! It could be educational." He wriggled his eyebrows lewdly and was immediately glad she hadn't seen.

"And secondly?" Lydia continued, shooting a glance at Stiles to ensure he was paying attention. "I'm not so sure Derek would appreciate us '_studying_' together."

Stiles stumbled a little as he followed her and narrowly avoided careening into someone passing by. "Um," he said, "just – just refresh me here, okay? What does Derek have to do with any of this?"

Lydia shrugged and made a sweet little squeaky sound that was the Lydia equivalent of a grunt.

"No, seriously," Stiles continued, more than a little desperate. "Why involve Derek in this?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not that kind of girl, Stiles."

"Wait – what? What kind of girl?" He kept up with her, and he felt as though he was trying to swim upstream against a powerful current. "I don't understand. Are we going to have a study date, or what?"

"No study date, Stiles," Lydia replied, slightly frostier than usual. "Go _study_ with Derek instead." She trotted off, her heels clacking neatly against the tile floor.

"Derek doesn't do Chemistry!" he whined after her. "I don't think he even graduated from high school!"

He stood in the hallway and watched her until she disappeared. He frowned, more confused than he'd been in a long time, and wondered what the hell was going on.

* * *

"Dude, Lydia was just so weird to me," Stiles said, dropping into a seat opposite Scott in the cafeteria. "She kept bringing up Derek for no reason-" He noticed Scott's expression – his face was all shadows and sadness – and he froze, his words falling dead in his mouth. "Scott? You okay?"

Scott met his eyes and said, plain and simple, "Why didn't you tell me you're dating Derek?"

Stiles heard his breath rush out of him as though he'd just suffered a punch to the stomach. He managed to croak, "What?"

"I had to hear it from Jackson, of all people," Scott went on miserably, more than just a little irritated. "I just – dude, this is such a big deal for you, y'know? And you didn't… I didn't even get told."

Stiles stared at him, watched the emotions play over his face.

"How long has this been going on for, anyway?" Scott asked with a sigh. "Months?"

Stiles moved his lips in an attempt to speak. "Scott," he choked, "what the _hell_?"

"No, no, no," Scott returned sternly, "you don't get to be angry at me. If anyone has the right to be angry here, it's me. I can't _believe _you didn't even _hint _at this." He shook his head with frustration. "I tell you everything about me and Allison."

"Scott, seriously," Stiles tried, but Scott spoke over him.

"Maybe you didn't tell me because you were afraid of how I'd react. Is that it, Stiles? Were you worried? Because seriously, dude, you should've known I'd be cool with it. I mean yeah, maybe Derek isn't the sweetest person in the universe, but I can cope with that. He's not _that _bad, really. Yeah, he's a pretty awful alpha, but whatever. It's what's inside that counts, right? Just – he's just a little coarse, y'know? What am I saying, of course you know – you're the one dating the guy."

"I'm _not_," Stiles yelped, and that seemed to stop Scott dead in his tracks.

Scott stared at him, his eyes wide and confused. "What?"

"Dude, why the _hell _would I be dating Derek?" he demanded, lifting his arms in an astonished shrug to the high heavens. "Have you _met _Derek? Have you _seen _him? There's no chance in hell that we'd ever – ever be like – _that._" He shook his head a little, trying to rid himself of the idea.

Scott blinked rapidly, a look of utter bewilderment upon his face. "So you're not dating him?" he asked, desperate for the complete truth.

"No!" Stiles cried. "I'm _not _dating Derek god damn Hale! I don't even know why anyone would think that."

Scott stared at him. "Maybe it's the whole, y'know, sexual tension between the two of you. That could give someone the wrong impression."

Stiles choked.

"Or maybe it's the fact that you're constantly bickering with each other. Only each other, mind you. It's like this weird play thing between the two of you. It's almost obscene."

Stiles's face felt both icy cold and burning hot, and his lungs were working overtime as he forced himself to take deep breaths. "I – you have to be – this isn't – you're joking, right?"

"You know," Scott went on conversationally, "I was upset before when I thought you'd been dating him without letting me know, but it turns out that I'm even more upset now that I know it wasn't true." He fixed Stiles with a long, hard look, like he was trying to teach him something important. "When are you going to realise you're obsessed with each other? Isn't it about time you got over yourselves?"

"Excuse me?" he croaked. He flailed and cried, "I don't understand what's happened here!"

Scott ignored him. "So if you're not dating him, why did Jackson tell me you were?"

Stiles's eyes popped at the sudden realisation of what had happened, and he spluttered, "Oh god – Danny – Lydia – Scott, everyone thinks I'm with Derek Hale."

"It's one hell of a rumour, buddy," Scott told him with just a hint of sympathy.

"I have to squash this rumour before it reaches my dad," Stiles whispered, and he felt the blood wash out of his face.

* * *

Stiles had taken two steps inside his house and hadn't even taken his shoes off yet when his father's voice came from the living room. "Stiles, can you come in here, please?" he asked, and Stiles gulped.

He shrugged out of his jacket, stepped out of his sneakers, and hesitantly tip-toed into the living room where his dad was standing by the fireplace, his back to him like a ridiculous parody of a Bond villain, but Stiles had lost the ability to find humour in the situation.

"Yeah?" Stiles asked timidly. He was already tensed and ready for what was to come.

"Do you know what the age of consent is in California?" his father asked, sounding almost trivial, and Stiles's shoulders slumped and he gave up all hope.

"Dad," he whined, totally miserable.

"It's eighteen, Stiles," his dad said, and he turned to face him. His expression was stony and awkward, like he was both furious and uncomfortable all at once. "I checked."

Stiles let out a sigh. "Who told you?"

"Never mind who told me!" his dad answered, eyes sparking. He took a deep breath and let it out as a disappointed sigh. "I can't believe you kept something like this from me," he murmured, and Stiles heard the hurt in his voice. "Not only is Hale in his twenties, but he's a _felon_."

"He wasn't convicted of anything," Stiles corrected him weakly. "Just… just so you know." He attempted a smile, but it withered and died under his father's glare.

"Stiles," he growled.

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said this is all just a rumour?" Stiles asked hopelessly.

His dad pressed his lips into a thin line, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at him.

Stiles sighed. "Okay. Yep. Didn't think so."

"You're – you're grounded," his dad decided. He nodded his head, a sharp little gesture of authority. "Yep. Grounded."

"Hooray," Stiles breathed, and with a pout he marched up the stairs and threw himself upon his bed, ready for the universe to swallow him whole.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew his bedroom was cold and dark, moonlight the only thing visible through his open window. He rubbed a hand over his face and groaned, remembering everything that had happened over the course of the day. His neck had a painful kink to it from sleeping uncomfortably, and he was starving. His dad hadn't woken him for dinner.

Grumbling under his breath, Stiles crossed the floor of his room and reached up to close his window. It was at that moment he realised someone was in the process of climbing the side of his house.

He let out a shrill squeak and jolted backwards.

"Scott," he hissed, knowing he could hear him, "you could've just _knocked_."

That was when Derek Hale vaulted himself inside Stiles's bedroom window and landed with ease on the carpet. He got to his feet effortlessly, as though he did that kind of thing often enough to perfect it.

"Oh," Stiles said quietly. "Not Scott."

"I figured your father wouldn't approve of me knocking and asking if I could see you," Derek told him by way of an explanation.

"So you climbed up the house," Stiles surmised, nodding. "Of course. Makes perfect sense." He laughed in a high, awkward voice.

Derek busied himself with brushing his clothes down as he said, "I'm hoping you can explain the voicemail Scott left for me this morning."

Stiles's heart jolted.

"Here," Derek said, touching his phone and then thrusting it out in Stiles's direction, "listen to it."

Stiles swallowed before he reached out and accepted it, being very careful to keep his fingers from grazing against Derek's palm. He forced himself to breathe regularly, horribly aware that Derek was no doubt deafened by the sound of his racing heartbeat, and then he pressed the phone to his ear.

"You have… _one_… new message," said an automated voice, and then Scott started.

"Derek," he said, snapping his name like a curse, "it's Scott. _Jackson_ just told me what's going on – and I just have to warn you, pal, that I'm gonna be keeping my eyes on you from now on. If you so much as hurt a single hair upon Stiles's head, I'm going to cut off your extremities and use them as fish bait. _All _of your extremities. So. Just. Ugh. You know. Treat him well." There was a beat as Scott caught his breath, and Stiles glanced over at Derek, who was watching him with a neutral expression. "Also," Scott continued, calmer now, almost amused, "don't you dare fuck this up. Alright, I'll – I'll see you when I see you. Don't you dare hurt that precious boy, you hear me!" The message ended and the automated voice returned. "To delete this message, press three."

Stiles handed him back the phone, ignoring the thrill of heat that ran through him when Derek's fingers gently brushed against his hand.

"Okay," he said, sighing deeply, "you might want to sit down."

Derek scowled. "I'm fine standing."

"Whatever," Stiles grumbled, "but don't say I didn't warn you." He wandered over to his bed and sat on the edge, then stared at his hands in order to avoid meeting Derek's eyes as he told him. "Basically, there's a rumour going around. About – about _us_."

"And that made Scott think that I was going to, what, kill you? Pluck hairs from your head?"

Stiles could have almost laughed at the passing joke, but he was too nervous to so much as smile. "Somehow, everyone thinks we're kind of dating," he said, and the words hung heavily between them. Derek said nothing, and Stiles wasn't about to look at him to gauge his reaction, so he continued. "I told Scott it was a lie, but he must've left you that message before I managed to get to him." He shrugged awkwardly and rubbed a hand over his scalp, scratching through his hair. "Someone told my dad, by the way," he added, "so it's a good thing you climbed the house instead of – instead of being normal." He managed a smirk and said, "He'd have probably chased you off the property with his gun, the way he is right now." That would have been a sight – his father threatening a werewolf with a pistol.

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the quiet murmur of a laugh track on whatever show his father was watching on the television downstairs. Stiles gnawed at his lip, anxious like he'd never known was possible, and forced himself to raise his eyes to Derek's face.

Derek looked thoughtful, if anything. "Oh," he said, totally casual. "Scott was just being Scott, then."

Stiles's forehead creased gently. "Yeah," he said slowly, awaiting some kind of outburst. "Yeah, he's a little… overprotective."

Derek nodded.

Stiles stared at him. "Are you – is this all you're going to do?" he demanded suddenly, having reached his breaking point. "Just – nodding and '_oh_'?"

"What do you want me to do?" Derek asked with a growl, looking at Stiles as though Stiles was the one being irrational.

"I don't know!" Stiles cried. "Freak out, or something!"

Derek looked affronted. "Why the hell would you want that?"

"I've been borderline delirious all day," Stiles hissed, getting to his feet, "but you just – you just – it's like it's nothing!" He tugged at his own hair, feeling desperate. "Why aren't you freaking out like I am?" he demanded.

Derek shrugged, and before Stiles could tear him apart for being so nonchalant, he said, "I don't consider it a big deal."

Stiles's eyes widened further and he clenched his fists together at his sides. "It's a big deal for me!" he said angrily. "Everyone I know thinks we're – we're _together! _Romantically! I've been _grounded!_"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Derek asked irritably. "Apologise for something I had no part in?"

Stiles gritted his teeth together. Derek had a point. It was useless to be angry at him when he hadn't done anything to begin with.

"I want you to acknowledge that this is kind of a big deal," Stiles said instead of yelling at him.

"Okay, it's a big deal," Derek said without any sincerity. "I'm sorry," he griped when Stiles glared at him, "but I think you're making this a bigger issue than it has to be."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles hissed. What part of _grounded _didn't Derek understand?

Derek nodded viciously. "Yeah! If you just forget about it, it'll go away. Easy."

Stiles forced himself to take steady breaths and calm down. He unclenched his fists.

"Who even _are _you?" he asked after a while, and he looked at Derek with suspicion. "I'd have never expected this kind of reaction from you."

Derek's lip quivered with the hint of a smile. "I've heard worse rumours about myself than this, Stiles," he said, and Stiles felt his stomach jolt. "At least this time I'm not being called a murderer."

"Well, what am I supposed to tell people when they ask me about it?" Stiles asked with a surrendering sigh. He supposed Derek would know a thing or two about dispelling rumours – even though Stiles's father still knew him as a felon, but still.

Derek shrugged limply. "Let them think what they want. Let them believe it. Tell them it's a lie. I don't care." He started towards Stiles's bedroom window, motioning that he was about to leave. "They'll all forget soon enough."

"Easy for you to say this, by the way," Stiles pointed out, "since you're not the one who has to deal with it."

"Tell Scott to get off my back, won't you?" Derek requested, throwing a leg over the windowsill and readying himself for the climb down. "I'm not about to decapitate you any time soon."

Stiles wavered on his feet. "I don't think he was talking about physical injury," he said quietly, but Derek had already left.

* * *

He started with Danny during first period History.

"Look," he said anxiously, scooting his desk closer to Danny's so they could talk without being overheard, "about the whole – _scoring _thing."

Danny beamed and nodded. "Way to go, man," he said. "Derek's a catch."

Stiles let out a breath. "See, why couldn't you have said something like that yesterday? That would have helped."

"Sorry?" Danny said awkwardly, yet again surveying Stiles as though Stiles had a mental handicap.

"Anyway," Stiles went on, "it turns out that Derek and I? Yeah, we're not a thing. We were never a thing, actually. It was all one big misunderstanding. We're just acquaintances, really – well, sometimes we're enemies, and yeah, okay, sometimes we're friends. But there's nothing romantic there – like, absolutely nothing. _Nada_." He glanced at Danny, who stared blankly back at him. "So there will be no need for us to have any – y'know – _talks_ about things. I don't need any advice."

Danny looked at him with disheartened expression. He reached out and rubbed Stiles's shoulder comfortingly, which was just a little over the top. "Stiles," he said quietly, "it's okay to admit it, you know. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Stiles fought the urge to bludgeon himself to death. "No," he said, "I'm telling the truth. It's all one big rumour."

"Don't try to hide it," Danny told him. "I've seen you with him, remember? Even when you told me he was your cousin I could still see it."

"Danny," Stiles groaned, "seriously, we're only friends."

Danny patted his shoulder. "It gets better," he said earnestly. "Stay strong."

Stiles let out a long, low sigh.

* * *

Stiles found Lydia in the library, her head down in a book and a lock of hair twirled tightly around her finger. She was turning a page when Stiles slid into the seat across from her.

"Stiles," she said coolly by way of greeting. "Are you after something?"

"About that study date," he began, earning a groan from Lydia, "was your only objection the fact that Derek and I are supposedly dating? Because that's a big ol' lie, really. _Huge_ misunderstanding."

Lydia snorted and drew her eyes up from her book. She fixed them upon Stiles, and he beamed at her. She stared back at him, almost as though she was studying him, checking him over for factual inaccuracies.

"What do you say to that study date, then?" he asked after a while, when the surveying had started to make him uncomfortable.

"That wasn't my only objection," she said, and she returned to her book.

"Ouch," Stiles hissed, pressing a hand over his chest as though he'd been shot, "you wound me, m'lady."

Despite the somewhat negative response in regards to the study date idea – which he was yet to give up on – Stiles's hopes had lifted. Lydia was a genius, so of course she would be able to tell when Stiles was telling the truth.

Hesitantly, as though she had almost decided against saying it, Lydia said, "Stiles, this whole puppy love thing you have for me? It's cute, and it's very flattering, but it's not real. We both know it."

Stiles felt his smile fall. Lydia had rarely acknowledged him, let alone his feelings for her, and to hear her so blatantly dismiss them was like being drenched in ice water.

"Now, this thing you have with Derek?" she continued, and Stiles let out a sharp huff and looked down at the tabletop, at his fingernails. "That's something valuable. That's worth pursuing. You shouldn't turn your back on that; not for me, not for anyone."

"_Honestly_," he said in a small voice that came straight from his heart, "we're not together." He looked at her and his chest ached at the easy expression she wore. "It's just a rumour. I don't even know how it started."

"All rumours have to start from something," Lydia said gently.

"But you believe me, right?" Stiles asked. "You believe me when I say that I'm not dating him?"

Lydia looked at him again, her eyes searching his. "For now," she murmured.

"What does that even mean?" he groaned, and he dropped his head into his hands and let his shoulders fall.

"I have to go," Lydia said as she began to gather her things. "I'll see you in Chemistry."

Stiles raised his head and looked after her as she walked away. "Are you sure you don't want to study with me? I'll provide snacks!"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he could almost see her smile.

* * *

"Did you talk to Derek about it?" Scott asked as he tied his laces, his foot resting upon the changing room bench.

"Yeah," Stiles grumbled, shutting his locker and stretching his arms above his head, "and he let me listen to the voicemail you left him."

"I make no apologies," Scott told him with a smile. "It's my duty as your best friend to threaten your love interests with bodily harm should they hurt you."

"Except he's _not _my love interest," he snapped. He definitely didn't inspect the way his stomach swirled at the word _love. _Nope, he wasn't even gonna acknowledge it.

"At the time I thought he was," Scott maintained, and he tightened his laces with a flourish before standing tall and stretching. "But anyway, what did he say when you told him? How'd he take it?"

"He told me it's not a big deal. He said people will forget about it soon enough." He shook his head roughly and said, "He clearly didn't count on Danny being so determined to believe it."

"Or half the school, really," Scott added. At Stiles's violent twitch he added in a sympathetic tone, "People keep coming up and asking me if it's true."

Stiles grimaced. "Of course they do," he sighed. "You'd better be setting them straight, dude."

"Of course," Scott assured him, a little hurt at Stiles's doubt. "But – y'know – it's hard to convince people."

"If I ever find out who started this rumour I'm going to behead them," Stiles promised, a hint of hysteria in his voice. "Behead them with a rusty sword. I don't know where I'll get the sword from, but I'll get one. Mark my words. I'll rust it myself if I have to."

Scott laughed. "Dude, you're just-"

"Stilinski," Jackson said, cutting in and coming to stand in front of Stiles with a sour expression on his face. "How'd a five like you score an eight like Derek?" he demanded, as though he'd been short-changed at the store.

"What the _fuck?_" Stiles wheezed. "What does – what are you even _talking about?_"

Jackson sneered at him.

"Hey, who told you about it before you told me?" Scott asked Jackson, ignoring Stiles's flustered stammering.

Jackson shrugged offhandedly. "Erica," he answered. "What's it to you?"

"Erica," Stiles hissed, his vision going red. "It was _her_ who started this." He balled his fists.

"Dude, we don't know that yet," Scott said, pressing a hand against Stiles's chest in an attempt at holding him back from a murderous rampage.

"You're so weird," Jackson muttered, eyeing them both with distaste.

"What were you doing talking to Erica for?" Stiles asked, dumbfounded.

"We talk sometimes," Jackson said with a defensive shrug. "Sue me."

"What did she say to you? _Exactly_?" Scott asked with intrigue. "About Stiles and Derek, I mean."

Jackson glanced over his shoulder, looking like he was sick of the conversation. He looked back at Stiles and smirked. "She said you spent the night at Hale's place on the weekend. Went home in the same clothes you'd worn the day before." He turned and walked away, sparing them a brief sneer before he left the room.

"It was Isaac," Stiles said through gritted teeth, craning his neck as he scanned the room for him. "Isaac is the only person who could know that."

"Wait," Scott said, standing stock-still as Stiles wandered around the empty room as though he could find Isaac hiding under a forgotten towel, "are you telling me you seriously stayed at Derek's loft?"

"Yeah, but it's not like _that_," Stiles replied shortly, irritable. "I fell asleep on his couch. Can't a guy take a quick nap on another guy's couch without being accused of being in a relationship with him? What has this world come to?"

Scott didn't relent. "But why were you there in the first place? I just… it makes no sense."

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, exasperated, and let them fall with a sigh. He made a strangled sound.

Scott cocked his head. "Was that a shrug? What did that mean?"

"I was at the library until closing time, researching stuff for him," Stiles replied, and yeah, okay, he could feel heat crawl over his face, but that meant nothing. "When I got to his place to tell him what I'd learned I just – I was tired, and he has a really nice couch – I just fell asleep." He shrugged defensively and avoided Scott's smug smile. "When I woke up it was morning. That's all."

"You sure you're not dating him?" Scott asked teasingly, and Stiles glared at him until he mimed zipping his lips.

"C'mon," Stiles grumbled, "Coach'll skin us if we don't hurry up."

As the team ran laps and did their usual warm up stretches, Stiles kept his attention focused upon Isaac. Isaac was totally oblivious, too busy stretching and sprinting to notice or care that Stiles was glaring daggers at him. It took forty minutes before Stiles managed to find himself standing behind Isaac in line for goal shooting practice.

"Stiles, dude, congratu-"

"Don't even say it," Stiles warned him, glowering at him with the power of a thousand suns. "Don't – even – say – it."

"_Ohhhhhkay_," Isaac drawled, uncomfortable and yet still amused. "Is somethin' wrong?"

"I'm just a little put out at the fact that the entire town thinks Derek and I are an item, when we're definitely _not_," Stiles hissed, and Isaac's smile fell.

"Oh," he said weakly. The weight of Stiles's gaze settled upon him, and he said, "I, uh, didn't know that."

"Did you tell Erica that I'm dating him?" Stiles outright asked him, feeling like a detective in the midst of an interrogation.

"Dude, I would _never _tell Erica a secret like that," Isaac assured him, crossing his heart in a vow. "She's the biggest loudmouth this side of the equator."

"Then-?"

"I only told Boyd."

Stiles's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "And Boyd told her, I'm guessing." He took a step to the side and looked ahead in the line to where Boyd was waiting for his turn to shoot. He wanted to throw something at the back of his head. Boyd was probably listening to their conversation and smirking to himself, the bastard.

"I didn't realise it would spread like it has," Isaac murmured quietly. He had the decency to sound ashamed. Stiles decided that maybe he'd leave the rusty-sword-beheading for another day.

"It's definitely spread," Stiles groused. "Now everyone believes it." He'd have liked to have crossed his arms and pouted, but he had his reputation to protect.

"So you're telling me that you're seriously not his boyfriend?" Isaac asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Stiles's heart jumped a little at the word _boyfriend_ – it sounded so incredibly personal, so much more so than _dating _or _item _or _relationship _did.

He had a sudden, brief fantasy – an image of Derek as his _boyfriend_. Derek holding his hand, Derek kissing him, Derek spending time alone with him, Derek talking to him –

Stiles's heart jumped and he cleared his throat, dismissing the thoughts as only that – thoughts.

"I'm not dating him, I swear it. Cross my heart and hope to die," he said quietly, and they both tried to ignore the red flush that coloured his face.

They moved up in the line, nearing the front.

"Dude, I saw you both asleep on the god damn couch," Isaac said in a hushed whisper. "Your head was on his _shoulder_, Stiles."

"I'm a snuggler!" he cried. "Is that such a crime?"

Issac laughed, his grin broad and toothy. "I'm sorry, man," he told him. They'd reached the front of the line and it was Isaac's turn to shoot. "But hey, just so you know," he murmured, leaning close to him, "I've seen the way he looks at you." He pushed his helmet on and with a final bright smile at Stiles he dashed forward to take his shot.

Stiles swayed unsteadily on his feet, suddenly not so sure of himself.

* * *

"I wouldn't be this upset if you'd only told me earlier," his father said over dinner, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"There's nothing to tell," he maintained. "How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?"

His dad took a long drink.

* * *

"I swear to you, Danny, I'm not dating him," Stiles implored in a hushed whisper during History.

"Yeah, yeah," Danny murmured around a smirk.

"Stilinski, Māhealani, is there something you want to share with the class?" asked Mr Harrigan from the front of the room. Heads turned to boggle at them.

"Just that I'm not dating Derek Hale, and anything you might have heard regarding that rumour is completely _false_," Stiles announced.

Mr Harrigan blinked, dumb-founded. The room erupted in hushed gossip.

"Whatever you say," Danny whispered with a wink, and Stiles groaned.

* * *

Stiles eyed his lunch with an uneasy grimace and let out a sigh. "Why does everyone find it so hard to believe that I'm not dating Derek god damn Hale?" he asked sadly.

"Maybe you should seriously think about that," Allison suggested in a gentle voice.

Stiles ignored her.

* * *

It was a Saturday when Stiles realised he was going insane. He hadn't seen his friends outside of school for almost a week, and if he studied for a moment longer he was sure he was going to explode. His father, who was working the weekend shift, had done the unthinkable and had disabled the internet before leaving in the morning, thus taking all meaning from Stiles's life.

He'd never been so bored before. There was nothing left to do but think.

It felt as though he had spent the better part of a week permanently standing on the precipice of something huge. He could feel the ground crumbling out from beneath him, and his body was tensed for the fall. It was inevitable.

Stiles swallowed, wishing the lump in his throat and the knot in the pit of his stomach would both ease and disappear. His limbs were jittery and he couldn't keep himself from gnawing on his bottom lip. He stared up at the ceiling, and completely unbidden he remembered Derek climbing through his window, remembered the warmth of Derek next to him on his couch, remembered the way that Derek looked at him sometimes, and the way it made him feel.

"Fucking hell," he whispered as he rolled off his bed and snatched his keys from his bedside table. "Fucking _hell_, what am I _doing?_"

His hand was trembling as he stuck the key in the ignition of his Jeep, and his heart was racing madly as he reversed out of the driveway. It wasn't until he was halfway across town that he remembered he was grounded, and by that stage he couldn't find it within him to care.

When he made it to Derek's loft he was both nervous and angry, and he wasn't sure why. He took short, sharp breaths as he approached the door, and he barely had the chance to extend his hand to knock before the door slid open with a heavy groan.

"I heard you coming," said Derek. He looked at Stiles with a wary kind of curiosity, like he was both afraid and excited that he had appeared. "Come in," he said, and he waved Stiles inside and slid the door shut behind him.

Stiles looked around at the loft, taking it in as though it was the first time. The loft was hard and industrial and it always seemed just a little too cold. Stiles wondered what Derek had against nice, warm, cozy houses. Would it really kill him to live in the suburbs like a normal person?

Derek stood to the side and Stiles knew he was watching him. Stiles got the feeling that Derek was waiting for him – that he'd been waiting a long time, and would wait even longer if he needed to.

"People still think we're dating," Stiles said, and he sat on the arm of Derek's couch and looked at him. "They don't believe me when I tell them the truth."

Derek slowly walked closer. His head was on a slight lean to the left as he looked at Stiles and asked, "Why don't they believe you?"

Stiles was about to shrug, but then he caught himself.

He blinked, wet his lips, and said, "Maybe because we fight all time."

"Do we?" Derek asked.

"Sometimes," Stiles replied. "And then there's always this – this _tension_ between us." He could feel it crackling between them even then, a livewire sparking in the cold.

Derek was looking at him with dark eyes, drinking him in.

Stiles's stomach lurched deeply, and he thought of the ground crumbling out from beneath him, of the inevitable drop.

"And maybe because you look at me like that," he said thickly, and he forced himself to meet Derek's eyes in a challenge.

"And?" Derek asked, taking another step closer, his eyes still burning with intensity as they bore into him.

"And – and I look at you like this – and maybe because we – this is what we _do_."

Derek was close enough to touch, now. Stiles, still seated on the arm of the couch, was craning his neck to meet his gaze, and Derek was looking steeply downwards. His eyes were dark, and Stiles's chest leaped. The feeling in his stomach reached its peak.

Stiles stood, and he was surprisingly steady. He looked directly into Derek's eyes, and Derek looked back at him. He was so close to him that he was all Stiles could see – all Stiles could _think of_.

"Maybe they're right," Derek breathed.

"God, I hope so," he whispered, and then he met Derek's mouth with his own.

Derek's lips were soft and hot and his stubble rasped against Stiles's skin, and Stiles moaned. Derek brought a hand up to hold Stiles's jaw, and Stiles pressed his body as firmly against Derek's as he could manage. Derek opened his mouth, the kiss deepened, and he moaned from somewhere deep in his throat. Shivers trembled down Stiles's back.

They parted breathlessly. Stiles's face was boiling and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears like thunder. He knew Derek could hear it, too.

"Stiles," Derek murmured, close enough that his lips brushed against Stiles's own. He seemed to want to say something, but the words didn't come.

Stiles brought his hands up to rest on Derek's chest, and he thrilled in the realisation that he could, that he was allowed to touch him. He felt Derek's heart-beat racing under his palms, and he smiled into Derek's jaw.

Derek curled an arm around him, locking them together, and Stiles craned his neck back so that he could meet Derek's eyes.

"Is this – are we -?" He cut himself off, not wanting to say it.

He could make out each individual eyelash as Derek blinked and said, "If you want."

"I want," Stiles said instantly. He held himself impossibly close to him, soaking up the heat he radiated and luxuriating in just how solid he was, how Stiles could push against him and feel it returned. He pressed their foreheads together. "I want, I want, I want."

Derek laughed quietly, and Stiles felt it reverberate between them, felt it gust across his lips.

"I've never had a boyfriend before," he murmured with his eyes closed, wanting to make sure that Derek knew what he was getting into. "Or a girlfriend, actually," he added.

"I had a girlfriend once," Derek told him quietly, and Stiles knew who he meant and what he was saying. He raised his hand and placed it against Derek's cheek before softly running his thumb over his cheekbone. He hoped the little action said everything he couldn't put into words. Derek let out a breath, and their noses touched.

Stiles moved in and kissed him, and this time it was deeper, easier, more exhilarating. He held his hand against Derek's face and when Derek's tongue met his, Stiles shivered.

They parted and Derek ran his hand down Stiles's arm, just touching him.

"I don't know if you noticed," Derek said quietly, a hint of embarrassment somewhere in his voice, "but I've wanted to touch you like that from just about the first time we met and you started talking."

Stiles's face grew hot and his lips parted breathlessly. "Should've made your move earlier, then," he told him.

"That's what I'm only just now realising," Derek murmured, and Stiles grinned into his skin.

* * *

Several hours later Stiles awoke to Isaac looming over him from where he was entangled on the couch.

"Well, well, well," Isaac said cheerily, "what do we have here?"

Stiles groaned and pressed his face into Derek's chest, and Derek snored.

"I'll leave it to you to share the news this time," Isaac said as he drifted away, and Stiles managed a sleepy smile.

* * *

THE END


End file.
